Chapter 3: Claire’s Story

Jessie has already told you how Michael and I seduced her, and how she became the third partner in our marriage. And yes, we’re married, more or less. I’ll tell you about that later.

For me, it all started when I met Michael at an art show at the museum. He seemed to be something different from the other men there. For instance, he’d take longer than usual when examining a painting or a statue, instead of taking the usual cursory glance and then moving on to the next piece. I took the liberty of striking up a conversation with him about one of the paintings, and it was apparent that he’d really studied it, finding details and nuances that I’d missed. I asked him if he was an artist or art dealer or teacher, and found to my surprise that he actually worked as a salesman for a chemical company. I also noticed that the ring finger of his hand bore the traces of a tan line where a ring had been. Well, I was always on the prowl for single men, so I asked him if he had time to get a drink with me.

I should explain: I never was inhibited in my love life. From the time I was in high school, I’d have a date every weekend, and it would often lead to a tryst in bed. “To get a really deep appreciation for sex,” I once read, “you need to have fucked at least fifty lovers.” Well, I’d had that many by the time I was twenty-five, and was well on my way to my next fifty. And more than a few of them were women, starting with my sorority sisters. I saw cocks of every shape and size and color, and learned what they felt like inside me. And I explored dozens of cunts, learning how different they were, and how each had its own intoxicating flavor and areas of sensitivity.

Those were crazy days! I remember one night in particular. Our sorority had received an offer from a nearby fraternity house for one of us to be an “honored guest” at an initiation ceremony ... a bukkake ceremony. There would be financial compensation, and no touching involved. There were no takers. I bet Michelle fifty dollars that I would do it, and she accepted the bet.

That was how I found myself at the frat house door at exactly ten o’clock. I was dressed in a bathrobe, flipflops, and bright red lipstick. And nothing else. They led me into a room lit with candles. I saw an army cot in the middle of the room, standing on a sheet of plastic covering the rug. And the cot was draped with a shower curtain. Standing around the room were between two and three dozen young men, all naked, and all stoking their very hard cocks.

I slipped off the robe, kicked off the sandals, and lay down on the cot, face up and draping my lower legs off the cot so that my pussy would be exposed. Somebody put a pillow under my head, and the games began. Each boy would come forward and ejaculate onto me, most of them aiming for my face, my tits, or my pussy, although a few shots went astray and hit my arms or legs or belly. Most of the guys wanked themselves, although two guys wanked each other. I figured that they were gay, and that while the sight of a cum-covered naked girl didn’t do much for them, the feel of another man’s hand on their cocks certainly did!

It was all over in a half an hour. I stood up and pirouetted with my arms lifted high, giving them all a last look at their handiwork as they clapped and hooted. Three boys slipped on pants, sweaters, and shoes, and shame-walked me back to my sorority house, still stark naked except for my flip-flops. At that hour, there weren’t many people on the street, but those few got an eyeful!

As I walked through the door, the cum still trickling down my body, they handed me my robe and a fat envelope. I counted it later ... six hundred dollars. Each boy probably chipped in a twenty. My sorority sisters looked at me dumfounded, and then they applauded as I bowed low. Michelle handed me a fifty-dollar bill, which I stuffed into the donation can at the bar. This made me very popular with the rest of the sisters, and established my reputation as the Slut Queen of the sorority.

“Can somebody give me a towel?” I said. “I’ve gotta get this cum out of my eyes.”

Stephanie grabbed a towel from the kitchen and handed it to me. “You need more than a towel, Claire! You need a shower!”

“Wanna take it with me?” I said as I dabbed at my eyes. She started to unbutton her blouse as she kissed me, licking a little of the sperm off my face.

And that’s how we ended up under the same shower head a few minutes later, washing the sperm from my body. It was strange -- this was the first moment of actual intimacy in an evening of erotic stimulation, and my pent-up horniness was enough to give me an orgasm in the shower and three more later in Stephanie’s bed.

My motto was ... and still is...”Get out of your comfort zone once in a while.” I tried nearly everything once, if it was legal: an orgy, nude beaches, even a little bondage. I don’t regret a bit of it, though. It gave me confidence, and license to explore the limits of my libido. I came to love my own body, every inch of it. I even came to love my breasts, although I’d fretted about their small size during my adolescence and wondered if they were ever going to get bigger. (They never did.)

Threesomes? I had them from time to time. I generally preferred being with a man and a woman, or two women, rather than with two men. With the guys, it was just one of them fucking me, followed by the other one fucking me, then the first one again. They seldom had any interest in each other. And I hadn’t yet developed a taste for being fucked in the ass, so the whole double penetration thing didn’t do much for me.

But when it was with a lady and a man, the dynamics were different. The guy would fuck one of us girls, and then it would be our show, making love until the guy recharged and fucked the other girl. It was we women who controlled the situation, not the man, who was willing to wait until we felt the hunger for cock again. And the woman was usually better at bringing me to multiple orgasms while the man was recovering, usually by cunnilingus, which is something most men rush through rather than savor.

And when it was all women, our goal was to keep each of us as close to orgasms as possible, and time it so that we all came at the same time, and sustain the orgasms for minutes and minutes. Those were the best ones!

I’m telling you all this not to brag about my promiscuity, but so you’d know that I’d had about as much sex as I wanted up to then. What I lacked wasn’t orgasms but love ... real love, meaning a commitment and a feeling of worth. And lately, that had been bothering me. I was wondering if it was even possible to find such a relationship, and whether I had to give up an active sex life to find it.

And I also began to lose faith in birth control, or rather in finding a method that I could live with. Over the years, I’d used a variety of birth control pills, and each one would start screwing up my system after a while. I switched to an IUD, but it gave me cramps worse than anything I’d had during my periods. I was allergic to latex, so condoms were out. Diaphragms and foams were messy. And even though I was checked for STDs all the time, I worried that not all my partners were clean, too. So I became very, very selective in the people I fucked.

There was another stipulation. Most of the men would eventually insist on monogamy, at least for me. They didn’t like the idea of sharing me with other men. “Listen to me,” I’d tell them. “Don’t ever ask me to fake an orgasm, or to fake fidelity. I won’t do it. Take me as I am, or leave me.” And most of them would leave after a month or so. The ones that didn’t ended up in my “little black book,” along with a lot of lesbian and bisexual women, and I would continue to see them for a hot fuck once in a while.

But all this time, I was looking for an ideal man to love, a man I actually looked forward to seeing in the morning, a man who didn’t mind my straying occasionally in search of new cock or pussy, a man who didn’t have STDs. A man who didn’t have a family from a previous relationship. And, what the hell, let’s go for broke ... a man who wasn’t fertile. I figured that my chances of finding such a man were a billion to one.

So when I went to the bar with Michael, my hopes weren’t very high. But as we drank and chatted, I noticed that he was checking all my boxes. He’d had a vasectomy, and hadn’t fucked anybody since his marriage dissolved. When I asked him if he minded an “open relationship,” he told me that he really hadn’t had much sexual experience, and that anything would be fine with him. When I pressed him further, he admitted that he’d been a virgin when he married, and was practically a virgin now. His wife had demanded only the missionary position, and refused to take it farther.

He was honest about his lack of sexual experience, which was a pleasant surprise, since most men would rather die than admit that they weren’t Casanovas in bed. Yes, he’d had a kid, but the boy had died young, so there weren’t any parental obligations. Now that he was single again, he said that he wanted to “catch up” on life. More women, more sex. But he said that he, too, missed having a relationship with a woman he could truly love rather than just fuck. “I’ve had a taste of being really close to a woman’s heart, even though it didn’t end well,” He confided. “I need to have that taste again.”

“Well, let me propose something,” I said. “I’d like to fuck you, but there’d be no strings attached. First, let’s just see if the chemistry’s there.”

“I’m not a very experienced lover,” he replied. “I just hope I don’t disappoint you.”

“Forget that. I should be worrying about disappointing you. I’ve been around the block a few times, so I won’t have any trouble getting turned on, or knowing how to turn a guy on. Just let me drive, OK?”

He smiled. “Whatever you say. Is this the part where I say ‘your place or mine’?”

“My place. Let’s finish our drinks and get down to it!”

And that’s what we did. It wasn’t a half an hour after that we were inside my apartment, stripping nude. From the first moment I saw him naked, I liked what I saw, an abundance of blond chest hair, muscles that liked exercise and, when he dropped his boxers, a nice fat cock that was swelling before my eyes. “Well,” I thought, “it’s time to show him what I’ve got.” I opened my blouse. I had no bra on, and the sight of my bare breasts stopped him in his tracks. If the small size of my tits were a turn-off for him, he certainly didn’t show it. Then off went my slacks and panties, and I was as naked as he was. I caught him staring at my pussy, with its generous “curtains” of inner labia.

“Your pussy’s bald! and your lips...” he said.

“Yes, my lips.” My voice was level. “This is what I’ve got. I hope it doesn’t bother you too much.”

“No! It’s fine! I’ve just never seen one, that’s all!”

“A pussy?”

“A pussy like that.”

“Can I take that as a compliment?” I winked at him.

“Absolutely! And there’s something else...” He paused. “Well, you know, I’ve always wanted to taste one. Kay never let me...”

“I’ll let you. Not here, though. In bed. But first, can I do something for you?” And I took his cock into my hand. “It looks like you could use a hand job, or a blow job.”

“I’m ready to blow right now!” He really was, too. It was obvious that we’d never make it to the bed, so I knelt down before him and licked the pre-cum off its tip.

And that was all it took. “Blow” wasn’t the word. “Exploded” might be a better one. I was able to take most of it into my mouth, but I didn’t swallow. I stood, locked jaws with him, opened my mouth, and let the sperm flow from my tongue to his. Let’s see how he reacts to that, I thought. If he’s down with it, he might have potential.

As soon as he realized what he was tasting, his kiss became fiercer. We hugged silently for a while, forging a bond that would last forever.

But the first thing that came from his lips was “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Cumming too soon. That one went way beyond ‘premature,’ didn’t it? But it’s been so long since I’ve seen a naked woman...”

“Don’t worry! I was flattered! And you’ll last a little longer for the next one, right?”

“I’ll damn well try!”

And we laughed together. And that forges another bond, doesn’t it? When people laugh together, they can’t be strangers anymore. And this man was no longer just another horny stranger that I’d picked up for a quick fuck, like so many of the others. He was someone that I’d like to get to know very, very much. Already, I felt I’d known him, or somebody like him, all my life. He was every man who had ever pleased me in some way, providing humor, sex, or compassion whenever it was necessary, now all rolled into one. And then he said, “Claire, I still want to taste you. Would you let me do that?”

It had been a long time since I’d had such an inexperienced lover, but he was a quick learner and, what was more important, he was eager to please. When most men fucked me, their interest in sex waned in direct proportion to the number of seconds that had elapsed after they’d ejaculated. But when I asked Michael to lick my cunt, he went right to it. He’d had next to no experience at that, but wonder of wonders, he’d listened to every word of instruction I gave him and did his best to obey. That was a relief, since I’ve had both guys and girls who were too confident in their abilities at cunnilingus to ask me what I wanted. Another box checked!

And he told me my body was perfect, from my small boobs to my meaty inner labia, both of which areas he found endlessly fascinating. The latter was a bit of a relief, too. I mean, most men have a pretty good idea of what my tits were going to look like once my bra was off, but there have been a few who have found my pussy lips a big turn-off, and lost interest the second I dropped my panties. Not Michael. He liked to roll them between his fingers, and suck them into his mouth and caress them with his tongue. I liked that, too!

And he’d learned about finger-fucking from somewhere, too. When his finger slid into me, I felt him searching for my G-spot, wondering where that magic button might be. I played hot-cold-hot to guide him there, and once he was there, and learned what I needed, he did his best to do it. My own orgasm washed in, not with a clap of thunder, but like a warm tide.

By then, he was hard again, ready to ball. True, he’d been celibate for a while, but there was more to his libido than that. (He said later that he would usually masturbate two or three times a day, and even more when he could.) This fuck was a nice, slow one, getting to know each other’s bodies. It resulted in orgasms that were almost simultaneous. The next one, in the hot tub, was hot and fierce, with him kneeling in front of me as I positioned my cunt at its edge, a fuck that ended with him sucking his sperm from my cunt, this time with more confidence. That’s when the thunderclap hit. I came easily and wetly, and we hugged each other as we slid back into the water.

He slept the night at my place, and we made love again the next morning. Twice. Two more thunderclaps. Both times he finished me off with oral sex, eating pussy like a starving man. Well, he had been sex-starved for a while. What I didn’t know then was that he’d always be hungry for pussy, even more than me. He still is!

Jessie came into the picture two months later, after Mike had moved into my place. He came back from a business trip to Wilmington, and said that he’d met an old friend, and that we needed to talk. The old friend turned out to be a former co-worker that he’d had a crush on. When he found out that the crush was mutual, and that she’d made a pass at him, he made a confession that startled me.

“I really wanted to have sex with her,” he said. “But I wanted to check with you first. I don’t know how open you want our relationship to be.”

“Are you in love with her?”

“I don’t know if it’s love or lust. It might be both.”

“What if I said ‘No’? What would you do?”

“I’d tell her it’s off. I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.”

“I don’t want you to do that, Michael. I know you haven’t had much experience with women. I want you to have that experience. With any woman you please, as long as she’s clean. As many as you want. I’ve never insisted that my lovers be faithful to me, any more than I’d be faithful to them, and I’m not going to start now! And I’ve got a ‘black book’ full of women for you to fuck! Most of them are bisexual, and they can refer you to some of their straight friends, too. But every time you fuck one, I want you to tell me about it, and about your feelings about her. Absolute honesty. And I promise to do the same for you, if you’ll still let me sleep with other people.”

“You don’t have to promise me anything. If sleeping with lots of men makes you happy, I want you to sleep with a hundred of them. But I’d always wish I was one of them.”

“Women, too?”

He laughed. “Women, too. But don’t expect me to go around fucking the men in that ‘black book!’”

“That’s OK,” I said. “I’ll fuck ‘em for you!” We laughed together, and then we kissed. This could really work, I thought.

It was then that we decided that we were more than just lovers, we were family. But when we lay nestled next to each other in the bed, just after a glorious welcome-home fuck, and Michael wanted to talk about Jessie, I wondered how deeply he was falling in love with her, and where I stood. I was falling seriously in love with him, and he with me, my promiscuity notwithstanding. But Jessie was the “wild card.” Could we be a family of three? They hadn’t even fucked yet, and he already seemed smitten.

On our second fuck that night, I said, “Pretend I’m Jessie! Call me Jessie! You’re fucking Jessie now!” And he did, although it took him a few tries to say “Jessie” instead of “Claire.” It was the first of many mutual experiences with sexual role-playing, but he felt a little awkwardness about it at first.”It’s perfectly normal,” I said over breakfast the next morning. “Everybody does it! I do it, too! They could be George Clooney, or Sean Connery, or Viggo Mortensen -- whoever it took to get me a little hotter.”

“Did you do it last night?”

“No. Last night I was focused on you, Michael! And when I opened my eyes after the orgasm, I wasn’t a bit disappointed! But I’m warning you, I’ll be doing it a lot in times to come. Nothing personal, you understand.”

“I’m glad to hear that. You know, I used to do that with Kay ... imagine I was fucking somebody else. But I never told her. I didn’t want her to think she was inadequate, you know.”

“Who did you imagine doing it with?”

“Oh, the usual: movie stars, TV stars, swimsuit models. And Jessie, too. A lot.”

“Well, then, you should tell her that. And I think you should fuck her, and see if you’re thinking of me when you do it! But seriously, Michael, imagination is a huge part of a happy sex life, and the more we can share that, the better the sex will be. I tell you what ... let’s fuck again, and this time you can be Patrick Stewart!”

“Do I have to shave my head?”

“Of course not, silly! My imagination is better than that!” And he did his best to affect a cultured British accent as we fucked, reciting the raunchiest Shakespeare he could remember. And I was his Diana Rigg that night, matching him quote for quote. It was a long, long time since I’d had such a playful fuck, and I loved him even more for it!

Well, you can pick up Jessie’s narrative from here, beginning with the letter I wrote her giving my blessings. And when Michael came back from his next trip to Wilmington and told me all about their tryst, and what a beautiful person she was, and what a great fuck she was, I knew I’d made the right decision. I really needed to get to meet her, I thought. She might be an interesting person to know.